


Flowers Like Veins

by nlieco (madin456)



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Flowers, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Soulmates, headcanon that nico is a good singer fight me on this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:14:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23741377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madin456/pseuds/nlieco
Summary: The flower is real and living and it grew from his veins in mere seconds. Nothing hurts, but he knows that someone else is in pain right now, whether it’s caused by a small bruise or a deep wound.Nico strokes the petals and sighs. Bianca would know how to deal with this too.Or: AU where every time you injure yourself, flowers bloom on the same place of your soulmate.
Relationships: Nico di Angelo/Leo Valdez
Comments: 40
Kudos: 342
Collections: celi adores these fanfics, oh YES





	Flowers Like Veins

**Author's Note:**

> hello friends, please allow me to humbly spread the valdangelo propaganda during these trying times in quarantine.
> 
> this is set during HoO, on the argo ii, and nico is traveling with the rest of the seven. many liberties were taken regarding canon content because listen… canon doesn’t give valdangelo much time together so I had to do what had to be done.

**_i. rooting_ **

On February 23rd at 5:04 AM, the sun rises to Nico’s song.

It’s the first time he sings since boarding the _Argo II_ —since the beginning of the end of the world. No one else is awake yet, he’s made sure of it, so he lets the melodies flow out of him slowly, freely, just this once as he watches the sky open up to colours for the new day. His voice is quiet as he transitions from one verse to the next, the lyrics coming to him easily after hearing his mother sing it to him all throughout his childhood. The song speaks of home, of safety, of family; it’s fitting, he thinks, for February 23. Bianca’s birthday.

He misses her. Deeply, in every corner of his soul, he misses her, but recently more than ever. Everything has been moving so fast that he barely has a chance to keep up, to think things over and talk about what’s been on his mind now that they’ve all been thrown on this quest. He still has Hazel, yes, but he didn’t grow up with her, doesn’t know her like he knows Bianca, and she doesn’t know him like Bianca does, either. What he misses is having someone to look up to, someone who would know what to do, how to comfort him, when the world is ending and all he can focus on is drawing in enough oxygen for his next breath.

Leaning against the edge of the ship, Nico looks out at the clouds around him and then down at his hands. A single flower blooms on his fingertip, light blue petals sprouting out from his skin. It startles him, like it does every time even though he shouldn’t be surprised anymore considering how often it happens, and he reaches out with his other hand to touch it.

The flower is real and living and it grew from his veins in mere seconds. Nothing hurts, but he knows that someone else is in pain right now, whether it’s caused by a small bruise or a deep wound.

He strokes the petals and sighs. Bianca would know how to deal with this too.

“Wow, that was really good.” The sound of someone else’s voice makes him jump. Nico quickly stuffs his hands into his pockets before turning around.

Leo is approaching him, easy smile on his face as he stands next to Nico, entirely uninvited. He pauses to admire the view, early dawn still transitioning into morning, and then turns to look at Nico expectantly.

“What?” Nico frowns. They’re not close. If they didn’t happen to be on this quest together, he doubts they would’ve gotten to know each other in the first place. He doesn’t really know why Leo is trying to make conversation with him now.

“That song from earlier.” Leo grins at him, teasingly almost. “It was good. I didn’t know you could sing, di Angelo.”

It takes a second for the words to sink in, for Nico to register the fact that Leo overheard him singing. He doesn’t think anyone at Camp has heard him sing before—not Annabeth, not Percy, definitely not Leo whom he’s only known for a few weeks. There was a reason why he came out here early in the morning, before anyone else was up.

He grits his teeth, fighting the urge to smack Leo on the head and knock the memory out of his mind permanently. “Whatever you heard, just forget about it.”

“How could I forget such an _angelic_ voice?” Leo’s smile is absolutely infuriating. “Will you serenade me some day, if I ask nicely?”

“In your dreams, Valdez.”

“Oh?” Leo asks, nudging him with his shoulder. “Are you curious about whether you appear in my dreams?”

 _“No,”_ he says, annoyance bubbling on his skin. “I’m leaving.”

A flash of guilt crosses Leo’s face. “Hey, wait—I didn’t mean to push you too far. I just came out to watch the sunrise, I promise. You’re welcome to stay, if you want.”

Under any other circumstance, Nico knows he would’ve declined the offer. After all, the whole reason he came out here at five in the morning was to avoid running into anyone else. But there’s a loneliness to Leo’s words that makes him pause, the tone of his voice delivering the line more like a plea rather than an invitation. It’s something Nico recognizes only because he himself has done the same thing before: begged people to stay without actually saying so, hoping that the other person will pick up on his true intentions.

They’re not friends, Nico acknowledges. But maybe they’re more similar than he had initially thought.

In the end, he doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t leave either. Leo smiles at him, genuine this time without any edge of mischief, and seems to take Nico’s silent presence as a win. A gust of wind blows the tension off Nico’s shoulders and he allows himself to relax as he shares this moment with the son of Hephaestus.

Leo’s fingers are tapping mindlessly against the wooden railing, a rhythmic drumming pattern in the quiet morning hours. It’s something that Nico has noticed about him after being together for only a short while, how he always has to be moving in one way or another. His ADHD is particularly strong, even for a demigod.

“What happened to your hand?” Nico breaks the silence, gesturing at the cut on his index finger.

Leo glances down and blinks, almost like he’s just noticing it for the first time. “Oh, I must’ve hurt myself while doing some maintenance work. No big deal.”

Nico nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. He reaches forward, without thinking, taking Leo’s hand in his and rubbing at the injured area. The skin feels rough, callouses covering the surface no doubt from working with mechanical tools all the time, and the cut itself is nothing worse than a small wound that will likely disappear in a few days. But he thinks about how the flower on his finger bloomed at the exact same spot, how it appeared just moments before Leo came out here to watch the sunrise. It’s a coincidence, he tells himself—it has to be.

“Uh, Nico?”

He flinches slightly, heat rushing to his face as he realizes how intimate the moment had been, how he had practically caressed Leo’s fingers while lost in his own thoughts. He lets go of Leo’s hand immediately and takes a step back, jerking away as if he had been shocked. “Shit, sorry, I—I have to go.”

This time, he doesn’t wait to hear what Leo says; he turns, cheeks burning, and quickly walks back in the direction of his room. Blood pounds in his ears and he’s pretty sure Leo is yelling something after him but he’s far enough now that everything sounds like it’s coming from a distant place.

Behind him, the sun finally breaks through the horizon line.

.

When you’re tasked with saving the world, you don’t really have much time to think about flowers that blossom from pain or the implication of _soulmates_. There’s always something new to worry about each day, whether it’s an attack from a monster or an obstacle they need to overcome on their way to defeating Gaea. So Nico doesn’t think about it, doesn’t address Leo directly after the last incident or even look at him when they’re in the same room if he can help it.

But avoiding Leo doesn’t stop the flowers from blooming. Carnations, peonies, orchids, cherry blossoms, lilies—they’re mostly concentrated on his hands, but he’ll occasionally get some along his arms and legs, too. They map his skin like temporary tattoos, leaving no trace behind once they’re gone.

Nico has a record, though, of every flower he’s gotten over the past year. There’s a notebook that he keeps in the drawer of his desk filled with petals pressed into the pages and scribbled notes beside them to help him remember what each incident had been. It’s something he learned from Bianca—Bianca, who had been hopeful, but never got to meet her soulmate in the end.

For the longest time, Nico had wondered who the sender of his flowers could be. A fellow demigod? A mortal? All he had known was that his soulmate injured themselves _a lot_ and Nico rarely ever passed a single day without adding some petals to his collection. As a result, the corners of his notebook are worn, used, loved. It’s quite possibly his most cherished possession, after his Stygian sword and skull ring.

Tonight, there are three more flowers for him to add; he takes each of them in his hands gently and presses them into the page one by one. A daisy that had appeared on his knuckles. A hydrangea that opened up in the middle of his palm. A primrose that lined the crease where his upper and lower arm meet, on the inside of his elbow.

This routine that he’s adopted, recording the flowers that appear on his body every night before he sleeps, is reassuring, and the fact that his soulmate can still get hurt means that they’re healthy and alive. In a way, it’s become his own personalized lullaby; with each petal he saves in his notebook, he feels himself relaxing and letting go of the worries he’s carried with him during the day as he prepares for bed.

But Nico has never slept well, insomnia clinging onto his body like a second skin. When he finally manages to drift off, in a state somewhere between wakefulness and deep sleep, a flower sprouts in his mouth, and he jolts up with a start, choking on the petals that fall down his throat. He shoves the blanket aside and claws at his throat in panic, eyes adjusting slowly to the dark room.

Choking feels like dying, he learns something he never wanted to learn, and his whole body bends forward, heaving as sweat trickles down his forehead. He coughs, gasping for air, and when the adrenaline fades out, he reaches over to turn on the lamp by his bed with shaking fingers.

The flower is still there, prickling the insides of his mouth, so he plucks it off his tongue—his _tongue_ —and takes a good look at it in his hands. It’s a [white tulip](https://s3.amazonaws.com/cdn.tulips.com/images/large/White-Dream.jpg), tainted with spots of blood. Nico’s mind reels with a million thoughts.

_How the hell did Leo manage to injure his tongue, of all places on his body?_

And then: _is he okay?_

There is no way Nico can go back to sleep now, so he pulls on a sweater and walks out to find Leo. The air is cold outside his room and the halls are quiet as he quickly makes his way to the other side of the ship. He heads straight to the engine room and sees the son of Hephaestus on the floor, hunched over a control panel of sorts with a screwdriver wedged between his teeth.

Well. No wonder Leo is hurting himself if he’s constantly putting sharp objects in his mouth.

Nico leans against the doorframe, watching Leo work through a cluster of wires, so acutely focused on the task that he doesn’t seem to notice Nico’s presence at all. There’s something entrancing about the way his fingers move, delicate and meticulous in a way that Nico has never seen before. More than anywhere else, Leo looks like he belongs among the whirl of machinery in this room.

He stands there, minutes ticking by, and he knows he should say something; he’s been watching for far too long that it almost feels like he’s intruding. The faint taste of blood still lingers on his tongue and the words are right there, caught in the spaces between his teeth. He wants to ask if Leo knows—about them. About being soulmates.

He settles for a different question.

“What are you doing?” He says it no louder than he normally would, but in the silence of the night, the words cut through the air, sharp and pronounced.

Leo jumps at the sudden sound, entire body flinching. His arm bangs on a pipe to his left and he curses in a combination of English and Spanish. On Nico’s own arm, a [moonflower](https://www.burpee.com/dw/image/v2/ABAQ_PRD/on/demandware.static/-/Sites-masterCatalog_Burpee/default/dw450e9ce2/Images/Product%20Images/prod000281/prod000281.jpg?sw=320&sh=378&sm=fit) buds, curling up to his wrist.

He tugs down the sleeve of his sweater on reflex so that it keeps the flower hidden from view, his fingers wrapping around the edges protectively. His heartbeat quickens and he takes in the sight of Leo in dim lighting, hair messy with untamed curls and lips pressed into a frown. A face to the flowers that have been growing all over his body.

“Gods, di Angelo, you really know how to sneak up on a guy, huh?” Leo rubs at the sore spot on his arm. Nico does the same, instinctively, tracing the moonflower’s petals. “What are you doing here?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he mumbles, shrugging. It’s a white lie, but he says it because he knows that Leo will accept the answer easily; after all, it’s not uncommon for demigods to experience insomnia. He takes a cautious step forward into the engine room, crossing the boundary into Leo’s space hesitantly. “Is something wrong with the ship?”

“No, no, nothing’s wrong.” Leo waves away his worries. “I’ve just been coming here these days because I can’t sleep either. Might as well get some repairs done, I figured.”

There are dark circles under his eyes and he sounds tired, the kind that’s etched deep in his soul. They all have demons, but Nico doesn’t know Leo nearly well enough to even try and guess what plagues his mind in the late hours of night.

They’re not friends, but they _are_ soulmates, supposedly. Nico’s seen real proof of that now, the flower on his arm serving as a reminder, still present and alive within his sleeve. And maybe it doesn’t necessarily mean anything in the grand scheme of things when they’re on a quest to save the world, but maybe—maybe it means everything.

“Can I watch?” He asks, the question visibly surprising Leo.

“I don’t mind but… are you sure?” The look Leo gives him is a mixture of bewilderment and disbelief. Nico wonders if he ever gets company here or if he’s always alone, every time. “It’s really not that interesting.”

“I’m sure,” he says. The space is narrow and cramped, not really meant for more than one person, and Nico thinks he probably looks as out of place here as he feels. But he’s never minded getting a little dirty and settles down beside Leo despite the dust and soot all around them.

“Why the sudden interest in mechanics?” Leo asks, looking at him curiously.

Nico is quiet for a few heartbeats, and when he finally speaks, he chooses his words slowly. “The other day, your hands were calloused. More than mine, or anyone else’s from what I’ve seen, and it can’t have been from fighting because you don’t even use a sword. I guess I just wanted to see… what you do, exactly.”

He doesn’t need to specify that _the other day_ refers to the time they stood on the deck of the _Argo II_ , watching the sunset together. When he held onto Leo’s hand for a fraction too long, the embarrassment of it still fresh in his mind.

Leo turns in his direction, one eyebrow raised. “That’s an awfully nice way of saying you want to see how I destroy my hands.”

And it’s ridiculous how easy he can see himself getting along with Leo if he just gives it a chance. He could simply allow himself to get lost in the teasing remarks they send each other if he wanted to, swallowed up by the warmth of the engine room. They’re both a little bit nervous, still not entirely used to being in each other’s company, but the flow to their conversations once they actually start talking is so natural that it almost makes him regret not trying to get to know Leo better until now. A quiet laugh bubbles up in his throat at how he would’ve found it absurd if anyone had told him he’d want to hang out with Leo just a few days ago.

“You laughed!” The mechanic looks at him in awe, as if he had grown a second head. “Wow, di Angelo, you really are full of secrets.”

Nico huffs. “I’m capable of laughing, you know. Just like anyone else.”

“It’s the first time I’ve witnessed it, though,” Leo says, looking quite pleased with himself. “You should do it more, especially in response to my jokes.

“Maybe you’re just not funny,” Nico resorts, but it’s undeniable that he’s smiling now.

Leo almost drops the tool in his hands when he gasps dramatically. “You take that back! How could you say that about my only redeeming quality?”

The tone of his voice tells Nico that it’s meant to be a joke, but something about his body language makes him wonder if there’s any truth in that sentence. If a part of Leo really believes that he has no other admirable traits than his ability to use self-deprecating humour.

“It’s not your only redeeming quality,” Nico says seriously. And even though he hasn’t known the other boy for long, he’s confident in his words and means it wholeheartedly.

A beat passes before Leo’s expression becomes flustered, the tips of his ears turning red. “W-what? Lighten up, dude, it’s just a figure of speech.” He pointedly looks away from Nico, suddenly more interested in the machinery in front of him.

Nico doesn’t press the topic any further and eventually, they fall into a silence. He watches Leo fidget with some wires on the ship, not understanding how any of them work but finding it oddly calming to sit next to the son of Hephaestus as he does what he does best. His thoughts drift back to the morning they had watched the sunrise together, the question _Will you serenade me some day, if I ask nicely?_ resurfacing to his mind.

So when Nico starts humming softly, he’s truly doing Leo a favour; he didn’t even make Leo say _please_. His voice is partially drowned out by the whirr of machinery around them but Leo still picks up on it, turning to face him in surprise. Nico doesn’t stop even when he feels the burn of Leo’s gaze on him, making him more and more self-conscious by the minute. It’s worth it, in the end, to see a slow smile spread across Leo’s face.

He’s grateful that Leo chooses not to verbally comment on it, instead going back to his task in a more upbeat mood. He takes in the sight of Leo’s eyebrows furrowing in concentration, hands tapping occasionally to the beat of the song.

Nico’s fingers move to touch the moonflower on his arm from earlier. Instead of plucking it off like he normally would, he decides to let this one bloom for a while longer.

.

It becomes a routine of sorts: at night, when neither of them can sleep, they’ll meet up and enjoy each other’s company until one of them gets tired or they realize they’ve stayed up the whole night and a brand new day has arrived. Leo leads the two of them to anywhere on the ship that needs maintenance and Nico will follow, not caring where they end up as long as he gets to come along.

This time, they settle down at the back end of the ship and one thing he’s noticed about Leo is that he will hold things in his mouth whenever there isn’t a convenient place to put them. He finally gets to see how the injuries on Leo’s body take form, what causes the flowers to bloom so often, even though it’s worrying to see Leo biting down on a wrench without thinking about it, almost as if it’s second nature. Nico can already foresee a repeat of the incident from last time, where the tulip had grown on his tongue.

“That’s dangerous,” he speaks up, partially for Leo’s sake and partially for himself. It wasn’t a pleasant experience to choke on flower petals and he’d rather avoid it from happening again if he could.

The mechanic turns to him, voice muffled as he speaks around the wrench. “What is?”

“You’re going to stab yourself,” Nico says, gesturing at his mouth.

Leo takes the tool out this time to speak. “Oh, don’t worry. I do it all the time.” He waves off comment and is about to return to his task when Nico reaches forward to grab his hand.

“It’s dangerous,” he repeats. “I’ll hold it for you.”

They lock eyes and Nico swears that Leo’s cheeks are red. Around them, the night air is cold, but standing this close to each other, he realizes that Leo’s body seems to radiate heat.

“Alright… if you insist.”

Nico takes the wrench from Leo’s hand and steps back, relieved. “The others too.” Because what’s to stop him from putting the next device he takes out in his mouth again?

Leo gapes at him. “You want me to give you my toolbelt?”

“Yes.”

He watches Leo jump back, pointing an accusing finger in his direction. “Now that’s going too far, di Angelo! How could you ask me to strip away my most prized possession? My very essence? The foundation of my _personality_?”

“If your personality is a toolbelt, we have bigger problems than Gaia’s uprising.” Nico raises an eyebrow, not buying the dramatic performance. He holds out his hand, palm facing up, waiting. “I’m preventing you from hurting yourself.” _And me._

The cycle of emotions passing through Leo’s face is almost comedic. Slowly, reluctantly, he unbuckles the toolbelt from his waist and drops it in Nico’s hand, eyes narrowed. “I’ll remember this. Don’t think I’m going to forget. I’ll remember.”

“Oh my gods—”

“Nico di Angelo, son of Hades,” Leo recites, clenching his chest as though he’d been struck. “And nothing more than a big bully.”

“You’re so _annoying_.” Nico tries his best not to laugh. “Don’t you have work to do?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Leo grumbles, spinning the wrench between his fingers and returning to the task in front of him. It takes only a minute for him to switch from light banter to intense concentration, focusing his attention on the repairs that need to be done. Nico doubts that many people get to see this side of Leo, when he’s fully immersed in his element, a stark contrast to how he usually holds himself in public.

While he works, Nico inspects the toolbelt more carefully. He’s seen Leo use it a few times before, but he isn’t exactly sure how it works. There’s magic involved, he knows that much—but what are the limitations? Can he reach in and just pull out anything he wants?

Deciding to test it out, he unzips the pouch to put a hand inside and thinks: _cupcake_. When he pulls back out, there’s a perfectly crafted dessert in his hand, complete with chocolate swirls and rainbow sprinkles. He stares at it in wonder, bringing it to his mouth and taking a bite cautiously. It tastes good, better than good, and he swallows it with wide eyes like he can’t believe a _bag of leather_ just produced _real food_.

“Hey, no fair!” Leo yells, glancing over. “If you’re going to use _my_ toolbelt for a late-night snack, the least you can do is share.”

Rolling his eyes, Nico sighs but shuffles closer, about to pass the cupcake to him when he notices that Leo’s hands are both covered with soot. He scrunches his nose. “Your hands are dirty.”

It’s the wrong thing to say because Leo smirks and opens his mouth wide with anticipation. “Then feed me.”

Nico blinks, unmoving, not sure if he heard that correctly. But the mechanic is looking at him expectantly, waiting, so he does as he’s told and holds the dessert to Leo’s mouth, watching as he bites down.

“Mm,” Leo says chewing, then licking his lips. “Diabetes never tasted so good.”

“It won’t matter whether we have high blood sugar or not when the world ends,” Nico replies, going in for another bite himself.

Leo leans forward again to do the same, this time smearing icing all over his left cheek. “I like the way you think. Mind passing me some screws? Half inch, flat heads. And a napkin.”

Nico reaches into the toolbelt again, handing over the items to Leo. And this is the system they adopt: Leo working, Nico getting the tools that he needs, and occasionally grabbing a snack for both of them to eat. Leo will open his mouth wide, wiggling his eyebrows, and Nico will feed him while making a comment about being used as a slave, unable to hide the growing fondness in his voice.

They work well together, mostly. There are times when they bicker a lot and other times when Leo is so fixated on his task that he barely speaks at all, but Nico finds it comforting to spend these hours together regardless.

Some nights, he’ll lean against Leo to look out at the sky around them, feeling his eyelids grow heavy to the rhythmic sound of metalwork, and he’ll wake up the next morning back in his room, tucked into bed as if it had all simply been a dream. Some nights, he’ll find a flower in an odd place on his body and know that it’s not.

He isn’t sure if he can consider Leo a _friend_ yet, but the relationship they have now is nice. Nice enough that Nico finds himself thinking it wouldn’t be so bad to spend the last few days before the world ends like this.

**_ii. wilting_ **

The weight of his sword is familiar in his hands, three-foot-long and forged of Stygian iron from the Underworld. Nico holds it between him and the monsters that have landed on their ship, a group of storm spirits in the form of horses, though he’s not sure how effective a blade will be against the entities of the wind.

Really, this is Jason’s area of expertise, but two spirits already have him trapped in a hurricane, so Nico figures he can cut the son of Jupiter some slack. It’s not like he has a choice either, because one of the horses comes charging straight at him, its mane crackling with electricity. He only has a split second to make a decision and Nico, like a madman, runs toward it in a rush of adrenaline, letting out a cry and slicing down when he gets within range.

The wind parts around him, the horse dissolving into wisps of air, and for a second, Nico thinks he managed to defeat it. But then the wind gathers behind him, regrouping and merging back to its original form. The horse, seemingly unaffected, looks much angrier now as it digs its hooves into the ground, but instead of attacking again, it sprints upward toward the clouds. In an instant, the sky goes dark, taking on the colour of stone. Rain starts to fall like a sudden onset of a summer thunderstorm.

In his hands, Nico’s sword glows purple with hunger. He grips it tighter, squinting up to track his opponent through the harsh downpour, clothes already drenched and sticking uncomfortably to his body. With a brilliant flash, the horse becomes a lightning bolt; it drops from the clouds directly toward him at impossible speeds, a comet crashing through the atmosphere, and all Nico can do is brace for impact.

It never comes. Five meters above him, just seconds before the collision, he sees a fireball hurling toward the storm spirit. They crash into one another, fireworks of smoke and electricity exploding in midair in a destructive display of colours.

“Take that!” Leo yells from the other side of the deck, dodging debris as he runs. He throws another fireball in its direction for good measure, watching the horse struggling to maintain its shape. But even half-formed, it manages to open its mouth and swallow the fire, determined not to be struck down a second time. Flame mixes with wind in its stomach. Leo’s jaw drops open. “Okay… that wasn’t supposed to happen.”

The storm spirit raises its head in a roar and the sky seems to clap in response, flashing on and off with blinding light. He sees the exact moment it summons whips of electricity to strike at Leo’s back, ripping apart his shirt and the skin beneath that, a clean slash from his shoulder blades all the way down to his hips. Nico scrambles forward as he feels an entire row of flowers sprouting on his own back.

_“Leo—!”_

Rain continues to thunder down on the _Argo II_ , hard and relentless, almost like hail, but Nico can no longer feel anything except numbness in his bones. With a _clang_ , his sword drops to the ground, and he follows suit, kneeling next to the son of Hephaestus. The world seems to freeze around him.

Distantly, he knows that the battle is still ongoing. Percy and Frank come to back them up and lure the storm spirit away, Jason has managed to get out of the hurricane by climbing on the back of one of the horses, but all of that is so far removed from Nico’s thoughts that he hardly registers anything other than the unconscious boy in front of him.

Shaking fingers check for a pulse. It’s there, but it’s faint, a weak flame fighting amidst the rain that could smother it out at any minute. Nico scoops him up, careful not to put any pressure on the cut on his back, and holds him in what would be a hug if Leo could wrap his arms around him in return.

“It’s okay,” he says. The words get drowned out by the sound of rain and no one is around to hear him except for the body of a dying boy limp in his arms, so he says it again, quieter, to himself this time, “It’s okay.”

.

In the bathroom, Nico strips out of his wet clothing and dries himself off with a towel. His reflection in the mirror looks defeated, an image of sunken eyes and slumped shoulders, old scars still visible on olive skin. The row of flowers on his back, starting from the base of his neck and going down diagonally to his hip bone, is a memento of his failure, of the things he couldn’t protect.

There’s an entire garden on his body, nourished and fertilized by Leo’s pain. The flowers are beautiful, he thinks bitterly. Undeservingly so, because they only seem to tangle Leo in vines and thorns when they bloom.

Nico plucks them off one by one, resisting the urge to rip them violently from his skin, reminding himself that the flowers are not at fault here. Even the act of removing buds and petals sprouting from his veins doesn’t hurt, and it only makes him angrier; he wants the pain, wants the harsh sting of loss, so that he can spare Leo from the agony of it instead.

His fingers curl around the petals of a [bluebell](https://usercontent2.hubstatic.com/2697429.jpg). It will be the only flower he keeps from today, pressed into his notebook with a single word written next to it in black ink: _sorry._ Nico drops the rest of them in the sink, enough to make a full bouquet if the sight of them didn’t make him sick to his stomach. He turns on the tap and rinses them down the drain, watching them swirl like the pretty, pretty outfits of synchronized dancers, hoping that they drown somewhere along the way.

He leaves the bathroom with a clean set of clothes and grief hanging off his shoulders, sorrow creasing the lines of his forehead and heartache spilling onto his sleeves. The door shuts behind him softly, the hallway stretching long and dark between him and his destination. It feels like Leo’s room is a whole universe away.

Eventually, he arrives—too fast and not nearly fast enough. As Nico stares down at the motionless body lying on the bed, his heart aches in a way that he hasn’t felt since Bianca’s passing. He had helped to bandage up Leo’s wound, rubbed _ambrosia_ on the injuries, but none of them are healers, so he can only hope that they did an adequate job.

Just being here, completely unscathed while Leo can’t even open his eyes, makes something violent threaten to blossom within him. Nico can only grit his teeth, wishing that he had been faster, stronger, _better_.

He bangs a fist against the wall.

They’re not friends, but they were getting there. And now, if Leo doesn’t wake up—if Leo _dies_ —they might never get the chance.

Clenching the blanket that has been draped over Leo, Nico holds his heads in his hands and prays. To Hades, to Hephaestus, to any god that is out there and willing to listen—he begs them not to take Leo away from him just yet.

**_iii. regrowth_ **

For two days, there have been no flowers growing on Nico’s body. It’s an abnormality. He constantly finds himself checking his skin for petals, buds, any signs of love sprouting from veins. From an outside perspective, he thinks he must look crazy. Paranoid.

He spends hours sitting by Leo’s bed, watching the rise of fall of his chest as he breathes. Jason tells him that he should get some rest himself, that staring won’t do any good for either of them, but Nico can’t just leave, can’t continue living as if nothing has happened. He needs to be there to see for himself. Because when Leo’s chest stops rising? When it stops falling? That’s the end. That means he’s really, truly gone.

On the third day, he brings a tray of food and water to Leo’s room like he’s been doing every day since the storm spirits attacked. He has to tiptoe around clusters of mechanical tools just to get past the doorway, but when he sees the silhouette of a figure sitting up on the bed, he almost trips and drops everything he’s holding out of disbelief.

“Leo!” He rushes to put down the tray and thank gods—thank _gods_ —that he’s finally awake. “How are you feeling?”

“Like a fresh corpse that got run over multiple times,” Leo says, voice hoarse from lack of use. He still looks disoriented, eyes slowing blinking to focus on Nico. “What happened?”

“The storm spirits—they electrocuted you and knocked you out for three days.” He presses a glass of water to Leo’s lips, urging him to drink. “I tried to treat your injuries but it’ll probably be a while before you’re completely healed.”

“You’re the one that wrapped these bandages on me?” He asks, looking down, his entire torso region covered in bindings.

“Yeah, I mean, I tried my best,” Nico breathes out. Then, quieter, he says, “It’s the least I can do for saving my life.”

Leo hums, eyes flickering over to the tray on the table. “And you brought me food.” He makes an effort to lift the corners of his mouth into a smile but it’s a weak attempt. “Aw, di Angelo, you do care.”

And Nico immediately hates it, hates that Leo is trying to act like his usual self when he’s so obviously in pain. The words are teasing, familiar now after spending so many nights together, but Leo’s heart isn’t in it and something cold settles in the pit of Nico’s stomach.

“Of _course_ I care,” he says, voice cracking just the slightest. “You’re my—we’re—”

“Soulmates?” Leo supplies, voice barely above a whisper. His eyes flutter as if it takes great effort just to keep them open, but despite everything, there’s a soft smile on his face.

“You—you knew?” Nico asks, eyes widening. When Leo makes a sound of affirmation, he asks, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Why didn’t _you_?” Leo challenges, then shrugs. “I found you intimidating at first, you know, child of Hades and everything. And I always thought my soulmate would be perfect for me, that we’d get along right from the beginning, so I didn’t want to believe it,” he admits. “You didn’t exactly fit the image I had in mind. No offense.”

Nico nods in understanding. He’s thought the exact same things before. “I only found out a while ago, on that day when we watched the sunrise together and I saw the cut on your finger.”

“I figured. You were holding my hand for a really long time.” Leo smirks. Somehow, even when severely injured and wrapped up in bandages, he still manages to be infuriating. “I had my suspicions before but I confirmed it on that day, too.”

“But you never said anything,” Nico repeats.

“I just… I was scared, okay? You know how it is by now: I talk to machines easier than I talk to people and I make dumb jokes all the time, as if that would make people like me more.” When Leo laughs, it sounds bitter. Lonely. “I’m not exactly soulmate-worthy.”

His back is hunched over as he sits on the bed, refusing to meet Nico’s eyes as he talks. It’s ridiculous because they’re on the _Argo II_ of all places, a ship that Leo crafted himself, and here he is, looking so small among everything else in the room. There’s a sliver of moonlight coming in from the window that gets caught in his hair, another streak dancing across his cheek, and Nico thinks his own heart will shatter if he can’t make Leo realize how beautiful he is right now.

“You are,” Nico insists. He wants to grab Leo by the shoulders and shake him until he sees it, until he _accepts_ it. “You’re soulmate-worthy to me. And you’re _my_ soulmate so that’s all that matters.”

Leo looks at him like he’s not really registering anything in front of him, eyes glazed over, blinking slowly. “I guess so,” he murmurs, still sounding as if he doesn’t fully believe Nico’s words. “You’re really okay with being soulmates with someone like me?”

Nico frowns. They really are the same, he thinks, right down to the insecurities they both have.

“Wait here—let me show you something.”

He leaves to step back out into the hallway, walking to his own room and opening the drawer on his desk that contains the notebook of pressed flowers he’s kept since the beginning of the year. Thumbing the cover, he ignores the urge to lock it back up where no one will find it, to protect this vulnerable part of himself, and makes his way to Leo’s room again before he can change his mind.

When he returns to his seat beside Leo, he finds that his hands are shaking as he flips open the first page. He feels the weight of careful eyes on him, grateful that Leo chooses not to comment and instead waits for him to speak.

“I’ve always thought the flowers were a mistake,” Nico starts, fingers brushing the petals of a [white daisy](https://www.publicdomainpictures.net/pictures/40000/velka/white-daisy-flower.jpg), the very first entry in the book with the words _Does this really mean I have a soulmate?_ written next to it, “or that the universe got it wrong somehow. The gods messing with me. I never believed I could be… loved. By a soulmate, or anyone.”

He goes through a few more pages, each one featuring different flowers than the last. “I needed physical evidence that there was someone on the other end. Someone these flowers belonged to. This notebook is a record for me, proof that even a child of Hades could have a soulmate.”

Looking up, he finds Leo’s hands and squeezes them hard because he needs him to _understand_ this. “Really, I would’ve been happy with anybody. But I’m glad that it’s you.”

The silence that follows is torturous, Nico’s heart pounding in his chest. He tries to calm the nerves inside of him, searching for anything in Leo’s body language that might indicate a rejection.

Finally, Leo lets out a shaky breath, tears in his eyes as he says, “Who knew you were such a romantic?”

One sentence and it’s like all the tension in the air dissipates at once. Nico’s mouth curls up into a smile. “Shut up, Valdez. I can’t believe you’re _crying_.”

Leo has the audacity to look offended while furiously wiping at his eyes. “No, I’m not!”

“You definitely are.”

He is, it’s undeniable by how he’s sniffling now, the tears spilling freely down his face. “Fine, but—you can’t just _say_ that and then expect me _not_ to cry. I could just—gods, I could just _kiss_ you.”

“So do it,” Nico says it like a challenge. Like it’s the only thing he’s ever needed. And Leo surges forward in an instant, crashing their lips together in something like desperation, something like relief, and it feels oddly similar to a sigh, the word _finally_ slipping out from the spaces between their teeth. Nico’s mind goes blank, all other thoughts and worries and doubts pushed out of the way now that he has Leo. _Has_ him. In his arms, in his heart, bound to his soul through the flowers growing from his veins.

When they pull back, Leo furrows his eyebrows. “Are you okay? Why do you look so flustered?”

“Y-you _kissed_ me.”

Leo gapes at him. “Because you told me to!”

Nico makes a mortified sound, covering his face with his hands. “I didn’t… expect you to actually…”

“Listen, Nico,” the son of Hephaestus says, suddenly very serious. “When a cute boy asks you to kiss him, it would be illegal not to do it. Understand? A criminal offense.”

Nico sends him an exasperated look. “I wish you weren’t injured so I could smack you.”

Leo only laughs, the sound of leaves rustling in the wind, and it makes Nico smile too. “When I get out of these bandages, the first thing you’re going to do is explain what every one of the flowers in your notebook means. But in the meantime,” he says, pausing for dramatic effect, the mischievous glint back in his eyes, “can you sing for me?”

Nico blinks, mind slow to register the request. “What?”

“Can you sing for me?” Leo repeats. “I miss hearing your voice and it’s been at least three days. You know, since I was unconscious and all.”

Nico stares at him for a long moment, disbelief written on his face that the first thing Leo wants after waking up from nearly being killed is to hear him sing. But having watched him lie unmoving for days without being able to soothe his pain, singing is something that he can _do_ , at least. And if it’s able to help even a little bit, then he is willing to try. Finally, he nods once and says, “Move over.”

“What?” It’s Leo’s turn to sound confused.

Nico just huffs and climbs under the covers to make room for himself by force. And, truly, he thinks that he spoils Leo too much.

“Oh—oh _my_ , sleeping together already, di Angelo? How scandalous,” Leo says when he catches on to what Nico is doing, but shifts to let him get comfortable on the bed all the same. “Don’t you think this relationship is moving too fast? I may be irresistibly hot but I don’t know if I’m ready for the next step yet.”

An involuntary blush creeps its way onto Nico’s cheeks and he sends a glare in Leo’s direction. “Maybe I’m trying to get closer to you so I can knock you out again.”

Leo holds up his hands in surrender. “You’d better not! One near-death experience is more than enough for me.” Then, he happily drapes an arm around Nico’s shoulder and pulls him closer, until their bodies are pressed together. “But come on, where’s my song?”

It takes a solid five seconds for Nico to stop his brain from short-circuiting. He doesn’t think he’s been this close to anyone _ever._ But he doesn’t let himself dwell on it for too long, instead choosing one of the Italian lullabies that he remembers from childhood and humming the tune softly, loud enough to hear but quiet enough that it feels like sharing a secret.

Leo’s eyes are closed now, there’s a severe wound on his back and he’s still kind of pale from having a lack of nutrients these past few days, but he looks happier than Nico has ever seen him.

It’s warm on the bed beside Leo—it always is, like he’s some kind of human furnace. But under the blanket, the warmth is a perfect temperature to lull him to sleep, the two of them leaning against each other as the sky outside darkens.

.

Nico had known that the night wouldn’t last forever, but a part of him had still hoped it would. He opens his eyes to the first rays of sunlight, bright and blinding through the window. The sheets are tangled all around him, another set of limbs brushing against his, the soft murmur of voices drifting into the room from somewhere else on the ship.

“Morning,” Leo smiles. He couldn’t have woken up much earlier than Nico, judging by the pillow markings on his cheeks.

Nico responds with a groan and pulls the blanket up higher. It had only taken them multiple nights of not-quite-flirting and the threat of very dangerous storm spirits for them to get this far. He wants to savour the moment for as long as he can.

“Hey,” Leo says, poking him on the cheek and intent on having a conversation at the crack of dawn. “What would you have done if I died?”

Nico sucks in a breath, expression hardening. His entire body goes stiff. He thinks of losing loved ones and the first few days after Bianca’s passing, unwanted memories surfacing to the forefront of his mind. How it feels when someone close to him is ripped away, the soul-deep void that fills him as he senses another demigod being pulled into the Underworld.

How he will know the exact minute Leo dies—not because he’s a child of Hades but because the flowers will tell him, blossoming on his body wherever the fatal wound strikes, stretching out like veins. Beautiful, yet so repulsive that Nico doesn’t even know if he could bear to look at it.

Leo must notice a change in his body language, because he brushes a stray piece of hair out of his eyes and kisses him on the forehead; says, a promise, “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”

Nico sighs. “Way to ruin the morning, Valdez,” he mumbles, drawing out laughter from Leo.

“Now that the discussion of death is out of the way, we should probably let the others know that I’m alive.”

“Hmm, yeah. We need to change your bandages too.” Nico lifts his head to get a better look at him, inspecting the injury. “Are you feeling better?”

Leo flexes an arm. “I feel great today. Those storm spirits got nothing on me.”

Nico pushes aside the blanket somewhat reluctantly, then moves to help Leo get off the bed. “Then let’s go.”

**_iv. blooming_ **

“ _Ow!_ Shit, that actually hurt,” Leo cries out. “Did you get that, di Angelo? On your arm, right above your elbow—”

Nico pokes his head in from the doorway, lips pressed into a frown. “Stop hurting yourself just to make more flowers appear! You know that they’re distracting, right? I’m actually trying to focus here.” He walks into the room and smacks the mechanic on the head.

“Oh, exactly like that! Come on, hit me more,” Leo says in encouragement when he sees a [rose](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/2/28/Red_rose.jpg/220px-Red_rose.jpg) sprouting on top of Nico’s head at the same spot.

He makes a face. “What are you, a masochist?”

“I’m just trying to help you fill your notebook and make it look prettier! We can probably get a variety of different flowers if we keep doing this—”

“Shut _up_ ,” Nico says, stepping forward. He grabs Leo by the collar and presses their lips together, feeling the son of Hephaestus relax against him until his eyes have fluttered shut. There’s a blissful moment of silence that Nico savours; then, without warning, he bites down on Leo’s bottom lip, hard enough to draw a little bit of blood.

He steps back just in time to avoid Leo’s loud screech in his ear and the attack of wildly flailing arms. Nico snickers as he feels a flower blossom on his lower lip a second later. Plucking it off, he hands it over to Leo—a purple petunia—along with the notebook that Leo is so keen on filling, and walks away with a wave over his shoulder. “You can add that one to the list.”

Later, Leo will press the [petunia](https://jaincareyphotography.files.wordpress.com/2015/07/light_purple_petunia.jpg) into the book with the words _“The time Nico di Angelo fucking BIT ME”_ beside it in messy handwriting. With the purple petals spread open, it’s easy to see the lines spiraling out from the center. Like veins.

Later, Nico will flip through all the entries with Leo, cuddled up in his bed together, and he’ll kiss him for real with the ghosts of an apology between his lips. And Leo will kiss back with everything he has to give and more, the unspoken words of _thank you for accepting me for who I am_ on the tip of his tongue, ready to spill over.

Despite the prophecy and the upcoming battle with Gaea, they have managed to find each other, against the odds, on a flying metal ship between the hours of sunset and sunrise. Even now, even after all this, they’re not friends, Nico thinks.

They’re _soulmates_.

And somehow, knowing that makes the daunting task of saving the world a little more bearable.

**Author's Note:**

> some notes:  
> \- date night on the argo ii is just leo and nico huddled up in the engine room together sharing their insomnia  
> \- leo was originally going to be the one to keep a notebook with all the flowers but sometimes the story just doesn't want to follow your plans  
> \- the part where leo is injured was the first scene i planned but the last scene i actually wrote. it was very frustrating  
> \- any dialogue that sounds wonky is because i haven’t read a rick riordan book in over five years haha  
> \- ship valdangelo!! 
> 
> find me on my pjo tumblr [@nlieco](https://nlieco.tumblr.com/) or my writing blog [@madin-writes](https://madin-writes.tumblr.com/)
> 
> edit: i imagine nico's notebook to look something like [this](https://madin-writes.tumblr.com/post/619746087535804416)


End file.
